


Crawl (Carry me Through)

by blakefancier



Category: Captain America (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Dom/sub, Homophobic Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-23
Updated: 2011-10-23
Packaged: 2017-10-24 21:53:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakefancier/pseuds/blakefancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The relationship between a man and his personal assistant is a special one. Howard Stark's relationship with Steve is *extremely* special and extremely weird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crawl (Carry me Through)

**Author's Note:**

> So I was supposed to be working other a few other stories, but when this idea popped into my head, it would not let me go. Anyway, it's done now. Well, done until I get an idea for a sequel. And I will because my brain hates me. Hates me like burning. Anyway, this story has a Howard that is much more asshole-ish than a normally write. And a Steve that is really, really broken. Enjoy. Or something.

The one thing Howard Stark told him before hiring him was, "I'm not a nice guy. Do what I say, when I say it, and I'll make your life very easy. Don't, and I'll make sure every second of your life is fucking miserable."

So he did what he was told, except when Howard did something Steve felt was destructive or crossed the line.

Of course, he wasn't sure which side of the line this landed on.

Steve was kneeling on the floor of Howard's office getting his mouth fucked so hard that he kept gagging and choking. He didn't mind. As a matter fact, he was so aroused, he was sure he was going to come at any moment. But he couldn't, he wouldn't, because Howard said he wasn't allowed to, not until the command was given.

He moaned and sucked hard with each inward stroke. He didn't care that his eyes were wet and that his throat was raw and that anyone who saw him later would know what Howard had done to him.

He wanted them to know. He wanted the whole world to know.

Steve was Howard's boy and he did what he was told.

*****

If anyone was to blame, it was Steve. His eyes had always been too big for his mouth, even when he was just a scrawny little nobody from Brooklyn. He should have learned to think ahead, the Army should have taught him that. Except that because of his skill, the military had let him run wild. Who gave an eighteen-year-old kid a gun and a shield and told him to "do right by his country?" What the hell did that even mean? He didn't know, so he made his own meaning, until, he couldn't make sense of the world around him. Until he got too tired to care. Everyone was surprised when he burned out. But he knew it was coming. He was just glad that Isaiah was there to pick up the slack.

So that was why, when structure presented itself to him, he took it. That was why his billionaire boss—

*****

But no, he should really start at the beginning.

*****

It started with an interview. It started with him in a cheap suit, sitting in an interview that Nick Fury set up for him.

*****

Nick had told him, "Howard Stark is a Grade A asshole who will try to piss you off and get under your skin. Don’t let him. He's someone we need watched. You're not out of this war, soldier, you're just behind the scenes. Seriously, don't fuck this up."

*****

He sat, hands resting on the arms of the chair, his back straight, as Stark read over his resume. The clock on the wall ticked softly and Steve wondered why such a modern guy like Stark would have something so old fashioned in his office.

Then Steve glanced at Stark, trying to get a feel for him. Stark was handsome and used to the good things in life. Steve noted his expensive suit, expensive haircut, expensive everything. It was also obvious that the guy was used to being obeyed. He was also trying to unnerve Steve with his quiet act.

"You keep staring at me." Stark flicked his gaze up to Steve and raised an eyebrow. "Are you a fag?"

Steve blinked in shock. "I-I'm sorry?"

"Do you like taking it up the ass? It's a simple yes or no question. Are you a fag?" Stark set Steve's resume down on his desk.

Steve's face heated and he cursed his fair complexion; he must be bright red. "I don't think that's any of your business, Mr. Stark."

"It is if you keep looking at me that way, sweetheart." Stark smirked at him.

He took a deep breath and reminded himself of Fury's warning. Stark was just trying to rile him up. He also reminded himself that Stark Industries was one of the first American companies to extend benefits to the partners of gay and lesbian employees. "I am, sir, but I promise you, it wouldn't affect my work as your PA. You're not my type."

"Oh, I'm everyone's type. It's my curse." He gave a lazy smile that made Steve's stomach clench. "Why should I hire an obvious plant? And don’t try to deny it. That'll just piss me off."

"Because this way you can decide what information gets to Fury's desk?" He really did need this job.

Stark stared at him for a long moment, then said, "I'm not a nice guy. Do what I say, when I say it, and I'll make your life very easy. Don't, and I'll make sure every second of your life is fucking miserable. Do we understand each other?"

Something in Steve perked up right then and if he had been smart, he would have told Stark to fuck off. "Yes, sir."

"Be here tomorrow, seven-thirty sharp." And then Stark picked up a pile of reports and began looking through them, dismissing Steve with that one action.

"Yes, sir," he said, and quietly left.

*****

It wasn't easy. God, sometimes it was a nightmare. Stark could be an utter bastard when he felt like it. And he felt like it quite often.

*****

Steve had just come back from a lunch meeting with Fury, a cup of coffee in hand for Stark because he always felt slightly guilty afterward. As he stepped into the waiting area, he could hear Stark's voice, low and angry.

"Are you or are you not my secretary?" He practically stood over Penny, his face red, glaring at her until she whispered an affirmative. "And what is a secretary's job, Penelope?"

"P-Penny, sir." She flinched at his growl. "T-To take your calls and… and… make appointments and… Please, Mr. Stark, I don't know where the file is, but I'll find it. I will."

"Do I not pay you loads of money, Penelope? How fucking hard is it to put a file away where it belongs so that when I need it, like I need the Murphy file, it's right where you can find it? Can you tell me that, Penelope?"

Penny's eyes filled with tears and her breath hitched in her throat. Steve rushed over before Stark began yelling.

"Mr. Stark, that's enough, sir." He gently touched Penny's arm and she gave him a grateful smile.

"Mind your own goddamn business, Steve."

He straightened and stepped in front of Penny. "No, sir. I'm sorry, but I can't."

"You can't? *You* can't?" Stark took a step forward and looked up. He wasn't the least bit intimidated by Steve's size.

"Making Penny cry won't help her find the file any faster, sir. Let me take care of it. All you need to do is drink your coffee and wait. The Murphy call isn't for another hour. I'll get you the file in fifteen minutes. That'll give you enough time to read it over, sir." He kept his voice calm and even, as if he were trying to talk down a desperate man. "I haven't let you down yet."

"Ten minutes," Stark said, his body relaxing just a fraction.

Steve found himself letting out a huff of air. "Yes, sir."

"If you don't find it and get it to me in ten minutes, you're both fucking fired." Stark quirked his lips and Steve knew his threat was an empty one. He'd make both Steve and Penny's life miserable for the next week, but they wouldn't lose their jobs.

Steve handed over the coffee. "Yes, sir."

When the door to Stark's office closed, Penny broke out into tears. Steve understood the sentiment; Stark could be intense, even more intense that Fury and that was saying something. He patted Penny on the shoulder and said an awkward 'there, there' before suggesting she go to the ladies' room and clean up.

Steve got the file to Stark in nine point five minutes and spent the next week doing everything from getting Stark's cars washed to running all over the city trying to find a tie in the just the right shade of blue.

*****

Sometimes Steve dreamed about Bucky, about that day when he slipped from Steve's grasp and fell, fell, fell and the only thing that was left was his scream's echo.

Those dreams left him shaky, dark circles under his eyes.

The first time Stark saw Steve like that, he cursed. "Holy fuck, if I didn't know you were more tightly wound than a virgin on her wedding night, I'd think you spent last night on a bender. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Nothing, Mr. Stark," he said, his voice hoarse, trembling.

"Sit your ass down. No, don't you fucking argue with me. Sit down, close your eyes and take slow, deep breaths. Don't think about anything but breathing."

He did what he was told, more or less. Instead of running though breathing exercises, he listened to Stark move around the room, cursing and grumbling softly.

"All right, open your eyes and tell me how you feel."

"I… I feel better," he said, opening his eyes and giving Stark a surprised look.

"Of course you do." Stark gave him a smug smile. "You think you can focus on work now, Princess?"

Steve flushed and got to his feet. "Yes, sir. What can I do for you, sir?"

Mr. Stark laughed and gently patted him on the shoulder.

*****

Mr. Stark wasn’t all sharp edges. Oh, no, he could charm the pants off anyone he pleased, when he pleased. He especially loved charming the pants off women.

*****

Steve leaned against the side of the limo, PDA clenched in his hand, trying to ignore the sounds that came from the inside of the vehicle. It wasn't working, he could hear every grunt, every groan, and every slick wet sound. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, but that didn't seem to help, it just made it easier to concentrate on what he was hearing.

He blushed furiously, wishing he could go back inside to the gala he didn't want to be at in the first place. He just wished Mr. Stark weren't so loud. He wished Mr. Stark wasn't so verbal. But Mr. Stark kept complimenting the young woman on her physical attributes, kept telling her all the dirty things he wanted to do to her.

And Steve just… it felt like the words were rubbing his nerves raw, leaving him hot and uncomfortable and feeling like he couldn't catch his breath.

He bit his lip, hard, as they groaned their way to an orgasm. Five minutes later, a very disheveled blonde— Steve knew Mr. Stark preferred blondes—exited the limo. She smirked at Steve and adjusted her dress; he forced himself to swallow the unkind words that threatened to break free. He gave it another ten seconds, then slipped into the vehicle.

Mr. Stark was sprawled out on the seat, face flushed, still breathing heavily. Steve's collar suddenly felt too tight and he blamed it on the heat and the smell of sex.

"Do you want me to send Ms. Carmichael the usual bouquet," he asked, his voice hoarse.

Mr. Stark waved his hand lazily.

He cleared his throat and said, because he knew Mr. Stark was expecting it, "Is there anything I can do for you, sir?"

"Pour me a drink." Mr. Stark's voice was soft and relaxed.

Steve set down his PDA and slid over to the minibar. Mr. Stark liked bourbon after one of his liaisons. He poured the drink and handed it to Mr. Stark, who sipped it and regarded Steve for a long moment; he flushed. Having Mr. Stark's attention was never a good sign. He did his best not to squirm, that just made matters worse.

"When was the last time you were fucked?"

He clenched his hands into fists and fought the urge to groan and close his eyes in frustration. He didn't know why Mr. Stark seemed so interested in his non-existent sex life. "I thought personnel went through the sexual harassment laws with you last week, sir."

"That long, huh?" Mr. Stark took another sip of his drink and licked his lips. "Who was it? Was it a commanding officer or one of the little grunts that are always around? Tell me."

"Sir—"

"Go on, tell me. You know you want to. It's only fair, you know about all of my fucks. I'm only asking for your last one." Mr. Stark nudged Steve's leg with his foot. "Tell me, Steven."

Steve shuddered; he knew Mr. Stark wouldn’t let up until he told the story. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He stared out the window at the people milling out in front of the building, looking happy and content. He wondered if he'd ever feel like that again. "It was two months before I was discharged. I—"

"Look at me." Mr. Stark tone was the same he used for corporate takeovers, the one that said 'you're an idiot and if you don't do what I say I'll end you.'

He swallowed hard and forced himself to look at Mr. Stark. "It was two months before I was discharged. I was out at a bar. I wanted… I was… I…"

"You wanted to get fucked."

Steve flinched. "Yes, sir. I wasn't at the bar long when someone came up beside me. We talked for a bit and he… He put his hand on my thigh."

"Did that make you hard?" Mr. Stark shifted slightly.

"Yes." He could feel himself beginning to tremble and he wasn't sure why. "We went out to the alley and he… he made me give him a blow job, then he—"

"No. Details, Steven, I need details." Mr. Stark's face was flushed and he looked… No.

"We went out into the alley and he told me to get on my knees, he wanted to fuck my face." He sucked in a ragged breath and his face grew hotter. And God, oh, God, he was hard. "So I got on my knees and I rubbed my face against his crotch until he moaned and told me to hurry the fuck up. I unbuttoned his pants and took it out and just swallowed it."

"And he fucked your face." Mr. Stark was breathing a little faster, but Steve tried not to think about that.

"He made me gag and choke, but he didn't finish in my mouth. He pulled out and told me to get up, to drop my pants and lean up against the wall because he was going to fuck me. I did… I did what I was told. And he just shoved right in."

"Did you enjoy it? Did you come?" Mr. Stark whispered.

"It hurt." Steve swallowed hard, and he wanted desperately to look away from Mr. Stark's piercing gaze. "But he kept going, just shoving into me again and again and he knew the right angle because he kept hitting my prostate. He didn't even touch my… my…"

"Cock." Mr. Stark leaned forward, but he didn't touch Steve. "He didn't touch your cock."

"No," he said, the word coming out in a surprised gasp. "No, he didn't touch my c-cock, but I came. I… came. And then he left and I left. And…" And he wanted to come now, but he wasn't sure if he was allowed or if this was some sort of game. "Mr. Stark, are we going back to the gala, sir?"

Mr. Stark took a deep, shuddering breath. "No." Then he finished his bourbon and poured himself another one.

*****

When he got home that night, he didn't even make it to his bedroom. He locked his front door, leaned back against it, and jerked off.

*****

"What is this bullshit, Steve?" Nick said, shoving the file folder towards him.

Steve took the folder and flipped through it even though he knew what it was. "They look like my reports on Mr. Stark."

"They're bullshit. I could have got that from anybody! I need information. *Real* information."

"It would help if I knew what I was looking for, Nick." He clutched the arms of the chair and concentrated on breathing. He hated this office. He hated how dark it was, how there weren't any windows, and how it felt like the walls were closing in on him.

"What I tell you doesn't leave this office." Nick glared at him.

"Who would I tell?" The metal arms of the chair squealed under his grip and he let go before he broke them.

Nick narrowed his eye and frowned. "We think Stark's in negotiations with the Chinese."

"He wouldn't!" The words came rushing out before he could stop himself. Damn it! "Look, Mr. Stark isn't a nice guy. But that doesn't mean he'd commit treason! "

"We've got intel that says otherwise." Nick got to his feet, walked around his desk, and touched Steve's shoulder. "Jesus, Steve, don't tell me you've got Stockholm's."

"I don't have Stockholm's. I just… I've been living in the guy's pocket for three months and I'm telling you, your intel is wrong. He's not exactly the flag waving type, but he's a patriot in his own way."

"Then prove me wrong, Steve. Find out what he's doing talking to the Chinese Minister of Defense."

Steve brushed Nick's hand away and got to his feet. "I will."

"Steve." For a moment, Nick looked uncertain. "Maybe you should talk to Dr. Samson before you head back."

"I don't need a shrink." And before Nick could make another comment, he hurried out. He didn't stop until he was outside. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the tension ease out of him by degrees. When he was calm enough, he hailed a taxi.

When he got back to the office, Mr. Stark was on a phone call with Osborne. He stood at ease and waited for the phone meeting to end. When Mr. Stark set the phone back on its cradle, Steve spoke.

"Are you in negotiations with the Chinese?"

Mr. Stark leaned back in is seat. "I'm in negotiations with a lot of countries."

"Don't play coy with me, sir. Are you in negotiations to sell your weapons to the Chinese?" The tension he felt in Nick's office was back.

"Son of a bitch! Is that what Fury thinks I've been doing?" Mr. Stark began to laugh.

"It's not funny!" His voice trembled and he made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat.

Mr. Stark wiped his eyes and grinned. "That's where you're wrong, it's hilarious. Yeah, I'm talking with the Chinese, I'm going to unveil the new Starkphones in November and I want to be sure that there are no problems getting them into the Asian market. I'm also in negotiations with Japan and India."

"Nick said you've been meeting with the Minister of Defense."

"I have. His daughter is interested in becoming an engineer and he wanted me to talk to her. I knew Zheng when he was nothing but an undersecretary's third assistant. You wanna see my paper trail? I can show it to you. "

Something inside of him eased. "Nick'll want photocopies."

"Of course." Mr. Stark tilted his head. "You didn't really think I'd commit treason, did you, Steve?"

"No, sir," he said, looking into Mr. Stark's eyes, and putting all of his conviction behind the words.

Mr. Stark smiled at him. It was the first genuine smile Steve had ever seen him give. "You're a loyal guy."

Steve blushed, but didn't break eye contact. There were a lot of things he wanted to say to that comment, but none of them were appropriate. "Yes, sir."

*****

And then there was a… change.

*****

At the end of Steve's first week, Mr. Stark had handed him a key to the townhouse, so he wouldn't bother Jarvis with his comings and goings. So that Saturday, four months into his employment—because PAs never *stopped* working—he let himself in.

Steve left the dry cleaning on one of the coat hooks then headed for Mr. Stark's office to hand him the files on the Stane merger. Or at least leave them on the desk because nine times out of ten, Mr. Stark was in his workshop on weekends.

"Oh," he said, stilling just inside the room and blinking in surprise. "Mr. Stark."

Mr. Stark snorted and raised his glass. "That's me."

That's when Steve registered that something was not right. Mr. Stark drank, he drank a lot, but never this early in the morning. And he… he looked rumpled and tired and raw almost.

Steve walked over to the desk and set the files on it. "You wanted these today."

"Did I?" He drained his glass and rubbed his face. "God, I forgot."

No, that wasn’t right at all. Mr. Stark never forgot anything.

"Is everything all right, sir?" he asked, because he wasn't sure what else to say.

"Oh, I'm peachy keen, Steve-o." And Steve could tell he meant to be cutting, but he only sounded tired. He seemed to realize it because he winced. "Sit down, have a drink with me."

"It's nine o'clock in the morning, sir," he said, but sat down anyway.

"You're right, you shouldn't drink. But I… I'm drunk and I'm going to stay drunk." Mr. Stark poured himself a few more fingers of bourbon and lifted his glass. "To my father, may he rot in hell."

"Your father, sir?"

"He died, six years ago today." He drained his glass again.

"I—"

"No, don't you dare say you're sorry!" Mr. Stark pointed at Steve and glared. "Don't you fucking dare! I'm not sorry he's dead. He deserved the slow, painful death he got. He… You think I'm a bastard. I have nothing on him. He was a cold-hearted monster."

Steve didn't know much about the late Stark Sr., except that he hadn't been well liked. "Okay."

"I told myself that I was going to dance on his grave when he died. That's what I told myself. " He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

"But you didn't?" Steve wanted to go to him, to touch him, give him some measure of human warmth. That wouldn’t go over well.

"Everyone's always watching me and I do have to keep up appearances." He laughed bitterly. Then he opened his eyes and leaned forward, holding out his left hand. "Did I ever tell you how I got this scar on the back of my hand?"

It was a shiny, thin line and Steve fought the urge to touch it. "Not personally, sir. But I heard you telling one of your… lady friends. It was an accident in your lab."

"That's what I tell everyone. Do you want to know the truth?"

Steve could tell he needed to say it. "Yes, Mr. Stark."

"When I was five, my father caught me playing with a knife. He'd told me countless times that they were dangerous, that I'd hurt myself, but I didn't listen. I never listened." Mr. Stark swallowed convulsively. "He pinned my hand to the table and he told me he was going to cut my fucking hand off."

Steve made a soft sound and Howard smiled tightly.

"He didn't, obviously, but the knife was sharp and he sliced open the back of my hand and told me if I ever touched them again, he'd cut my hand off for real. Then he put the knife on the table and walked out."

Steve didn't say he was sorry, but gave in to his instincts and ran his thumb over the scar. Howard jerked his hand away and clenched it into a fist. "You look tired, sir."

"I feel…" Howard pressed his lips together and Steve thought, _hollow._ "I feel tired."

"Let me help you up to bed." Steve stood up and walked around the desk. He helped Howard to his feet and put a hand around his waist.

"I'm going to make you pay for seeing this, you know."

"I do." He moved slowly, taking most of Howard's weight.

"You don't even care." Howard looked at Steve. His breath was hot on Steve's face. "Why don't you care?"

"I'm…" _hollow too_ Steve took a deep breath. "I'm tired, too, sir. Tired and tired of being tired."

"Yeah." Howard laughed. "Yeah."

Steve made sure that Howard had lots of water and aspirin before tucking him into bed. Then he went downstairs and made some phone calls.

When the sun began to set, he gently woke Howard from his stupor.

"What?" he said, thickly, and blinked in confusion. "Steve? "

He sounded so young, so different from the hard mask he put on day after day that Steve gave in to the impulse and ran a palm along his jaw, feeling the rasp of stubble. "Yes, sir. It's time to get up. We have somewhere to be."

"Where?"

"You'll see. Trust me, sir."

Maybe it was that Howard was half-asleep or still drunk out of his skull, but he allowed Steve to help him out of bed and into his shoes. He didn't say a damn thing as they went downstairs and out into the waiting limo. Howard just leaned back in the seat, closed his eyes, and drowsed.

Steve had to swallow down a lump of emotion that had formed in his throat.

When the limo stopped, Howard opened his eyes. Steve exited the vehicle and helped him out.

"Why… Why are we in the cemetery?" Howard blinked in confusion.

"We're alone. Just you and me and... and Jarvis. I had them clear out the cemetery, not that anyone would come out here tonight." Steve pulled a flashlight from his jacket pocket. "If you really want to dance on his grave, then do it. Screw appearances."

Howard stared at Steve for a long moment, his eyes wide with shock. Then he let out a huff of laughter and took the flashlight. "His grave is over here."

Steve followed him, surefooted, moving carefully between the graves while Howard trampled over them without a care.

When they stood in front of the marker, Howard read it out loud. "Howard Stark, beloved husband and father." He laughed and tossed the flashlight on the ground. But he didn't move, didn't stand on his father's grave, didn't do anything but stare at the marker, shivering slightly.

He couldn't do it, Steve realized. He wasn't sure how to even start. So Steve held out his hand. "Dance with me, sir."

"Dance—" Howard gave him a startled look.

"Wouldn't it make your father angry? You dancing with another man on his grave? A fag." Because of course Howard learned to use that word from his father. He must have learned all his sharp edges and rough walls from that man.

"Yeah, it would.' He grasped Steve's hand and… and Steve pulled him close, resting a hand on Howard's hip. It was ridiculous, they were ridiculous: two grown men stumbling around in a dark cemetery, one of them half-drunk and fighting the other for lead.

Then Howard looked up at him and shuddered, his mouth opening and Steve felt breathless. "I—"

Suddenly, Howard wrenched himself out of Steve's arms, stumbled away. Before Steve could comment, Howard leaned over and vomited. When he got himself under control, Steve gave him a handkerchief to wipe his mouth.

"Well, that was an auspicious ending," Howard said, and began to laugh. He laughed hard and long, far longer than it warranted, and eventually the laughter turned into violent sobs.

Steve turned from him, walked a few feet in the direction of the limo, then stopped to stare up at the sky. After a few minutes, the sobs faded away, and Howard moved to Steve's side. They walked to the limo in silence and climbed in. Steve stared out the window, until Howard yawned.

When Steve turned to him, the mask was back in place, but Howard's lashes were still wet and his eyes were puffy and red.

"Is there anything else I can help you with today, sir?" he said, because that's what was expected of him.

Howard stretched, his legs sprawled out to take up as much space as possible, and smirked. "Not unless you know the number of an escort service. I'm horny as hell; I could use a blow job."

Steve's heart hammered in his chest and his mouth went dry and he hated the mask that Howard wore. He hated his own mask, hated the way it hid how hollow he was. But maybe he could be filled, for just a moment. For just a moment, maybe, Howard could fill him. So he slid off the seat onto the floor of the limo, kneeling between Howard's legs, laying his palms against Howard's thighs.

"Sir?" he said, asking permission, loving the way the mask slipped, the way Howard flushed, his mouth opening in surprise.

"This isn't in your job description."

It could be, he thought, but didn't say. "Neither was dancing on your father's grave, sir."

Howard contemplated him and Steve stared back, calm, waiting. Then Howard reached over and cupped the back his head, not to draw him in, but to give him permission.

Steve sighed and slid his hands up to undo Howard pants and draw him out. Steve leaned in, breathing in his scent, licking at the damp head to sample the taste of him, before drawing him in and sucking, almost lazily.

Steve closed his eyes to concentrate on his other senses: Howard's hands in his hair, tugging almost painfully hard, Howard's cock stretching his lips and filling his mouth with weight and bitterness, nudging at the back of his throat. God, Steve breathed him in, sucked him in, greedy for more but afraid that it would end too soon.

Howard's hips moved, fucking his mouth, making him choke and groan and drool. Steve would beg for more if he could. Instead, he urged Howard on with tongue and *suck* and hands scrambling against hips. He pulled Howard's cock into him and pulled Howard's groans out into the air.

And suddenly, Howard jerked Steve's head close, and stuttered out a 'fuck' as he came. Steve swallowed as much as he could, though some of it escaped from the corners of his mouth. He swallowed until there was nothing left, then pulled off with a soft, wet pop and slid back into his seat. He reached into his pocket for his handkerchief before remembering that he gave it to Howard earlier. He shrugged and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, smearing drool and come onto the fabric.

Steve looked up and Howard was staring at him, eyes dark. The mask wasn't fully in place and Steve felt a smug satisfaction at that.

*****

Steve got into work early on Monday morning, even before Howard. He printed up the schedule for the day, going through it, pulling files so that the new secretary Marissa wouldn't have to. Then Steve put on a fresh pot of coffee, straightened Howard's desk, and logged onto Howard's computer so that he could get to work right away.

When Marissa came in, he smiled, and briefed her on what he'd done. They bantered for a bit; he liked her, she was calm and when Howard yelled at her, she didn't back down. Once, she even yelled back.

When Howard walked in, he didn't say hello. "I don't want to be disturbed today, Marissa. Someone wants to talk to me, it'll have to be a phone conversation. Steve, get your ass in my office now."

Steve's pulse raced and he exchanged a glance with Marissa.

"I don't know what you did to piss him off," she said, "but good luck."

"Thanks." He followed Howard into his office, closing the door behind him.

"Lock the door and come here." Howard pointed to the area next to his chair.

Steve shivered at Howard's tone, but did as he was told, standing at attention. "Yes, sir?"

Howard leaned back in his chair and let his gaze travel over Steve's body, as if he were assessing him. "At ease, soldier."

"Yes, sir." He moved into position.

Howard smiled. "Did you like kneeling at my feet and sucking my cock, Steven?"

He shuddered at that, his mouth going dry. "Yes, Mr. Stark, I did."

"When you got home, did you jerk off?"

He swallowed hard, his face heating, both at the memory and the words. His cock strained against the fabric of his pants. "Yes. I… I stroked myself and… and I fucked myself on my fingers."

"And thought of me."

"Yes, sir," he whispered.

"What's your safeword, Steven?"

"I… I don't…" Steve took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "We don't need a safeword, Mr. Stark."

Howard let out a soft gasp and his eyes darkened slightly. "You're playing a dangerous game."

He shook his head. "This isn't a game for me, sir."

Howard laughed softly and Steve's skin prickled. "Take off your clothes. Slowly. Fold them and put them on the chair." When he was naked, Howard smiled. "Now kneel. Spread your knees. No, wider. Perfect. And clasp your hands behind your back. Good boy."

Steve moaned softly and squirmed.

"When the door to this office is locked, this is how I want you, Steven. Is that understood?"

He nodded, too overwhelmed to speak.

"Good." Howard ran his hand through Steve's hair over and over. "If you're going to be my boy, I expect you to obey me without question or hesitation. If you don't, I will beat your ass so hard, you won't be able to sit for a week. I get to decide the rules, I decide your limits, I decide what is acceptable and what isn't. Don’t like it, there's the door."

Steve didn't move from his position and Howard smiled at him.

*****

Howard licked a path down Steve's spine, slick fingers moving in and out of Steve's ass, making him moan and writhe. "God, look at you," he said, sucking hard on the small of Steve's back, then biting gently. "You're so hungry for me, aren’t you? You want me to fuck you raw."

"Yes." Steve moaned, shoving back on Howard's fingers, squeezing tight around them. "Fuck me, please, sir. Anything, I… I'll do anything for you. I'm yours. I'm yours."

"Yeah, you are." Howard dragged his fingers out of Steve's ass, pulling another moan from him, then slid up and shoved in. "Don't you forget it."

*****

Steve nuzzled the damp hair of Howard's temple, licking away the trickle of sweat that slid down the side of his face.

"I should have fucking known you'd be a cuddler." Howard laughed and rolled on his belly.

Steve wasn't deterred, he pressed his nose to the nape of Howard's neck and sucked the soft skin there.

"Fuck, Steve, go to sleep!" He reached back and gently slapped his hip. "I have that teleconference with Niroshi tomorrow. "

Steve sighed and wrapped an arm around Howard's waist. "Yes, sir."

*****

Steve knelt at Howard's feet, hands clasped behind his back, doing his best to hold as still as possible. His knees ached and his muscles were trembling from the strain of keeping so still. But Steve knew that despite Howard's seeming concentration on the newspaper, if he moved, it would be noticed. And he would be punished. The very thought brought a thrill and he fought the urge to moan; Howard said still and silent.

Howard closed his paper, folded it, and set it down. "Are you uncomfortable, Steven?"

He swallowed hard. "My knees hurt, Mr. Stark."

"Mmm." Howard reached down and ran his fingers through Steve's hair. "Can't have that, now can we?"

Steve didn’t say anything, but he leaned into Howard's touch.

Howard chuckled at that and playfully tugged on a lock of hair. "Sit down at the table, Steven, and eat your breakfast."

"Thank you, sir." Steve slowly got to his feet, stretching a bit to help with the strain of holding still for so long. He sat down and began eating the cold eggs. "Would you like me to brief you on the Niroshi Corporation?"

"That can wait until after breakfast." Howard chuckled low and mischievous.

"Sir?" he said, his pulse racing because he knew that laugh.

"I'm going to bend you over my desk, Steven and I'm going to fuck you while you brief me on Niroshi. And if you leave anything out, you won't be able to stand for a week."

Steve's face grew hot and his cock stood at attention. "Y-Yes, sir, M-Mr. Stark."

*****

"God, you actually live in this dump?" Howard shoved Steve onto the bed and made a moue of disgust. "How the hell can you stand it?"

Steve stripped out of his clothes and rolled onto his belly, ass up in the air, knees spread, and hands clasped behind his back. His place wasn't a dump; it just wasn't a mansion. "It's clean and safe and…"

"Small. Now shut your fucking mouth before I gag you."

Steve heard the slither of leather against fabric as Howard took off his belt and shivered, his cock hardening.

"Why am I going to spank you tonight, Steven?"

He let out a soft moan, his toes curling. "Because you can, sir."

"Yes," Howard said, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Exactly right, because I can. And because you need it. They didn't give you this in the Army, did they, Steven? They didn't beat your ass until it was red and throbbing. Until you were crying because it hurt, because you wanted more."

Steve moaned low in his throat and lifted his ass. "N-No, sir."

Howard drew his nails across Steve's ass and laughed. "My boy's a slut, isn't he? So hot for pain, so hot for my cock."

"Y-Yes, I… " His face flushed and he fought to get the rest of the words out. "Y-Your boy's a slut. A slut for pain, a slut for your cock. Please, sir! Please, I need it. I need it so much!" He pressed his face against the bedspread and sobbed.

When he felt the first sharp crack of the belt against his thighs, he let out a cry of relief. And like everything else, Howard showed no mercy, but Steve didn't care, he didn't want mercy. Each bright stripe of agony echoed through him, driving away the lost feeling at the core of him. He was anchored by the leather striking his ass and thighs, anchored by the heat, by the pain. He arched into it, moaning and crying, his lashes wet, his mouth pressed to bed to muffle his cries.

And then, he heard Howard's voice, piercing in his ears. "Let me see you come."

Steve arched and wailed, his toes digging into the bedspread as pleasure roared through him and he came.

Howard sat on the bed and gently rubbed between Steve's shoulder blades. "Perfect," he said, panting softly, "that was perfect, Steven. Stretch out now, relax for a bit. I'm calling Jarvis to pick us up. I'm not going to spend one more minute in this shit apartment. You'll spend the weekend with me."

It took him a few tries to speak because he tongue felt heavy. "Sir?"

Howard grinned and patted his abused ass, making him hiss. "You won't even need to pack clothes."

*****

As soon as he caught the mistake, he went down to personnel to correct it. "Hi, Denise, there's something wrong with my paycheck."

Denise looked up from her computer and smiled at him. "Steve, hi. Oh, don't tell me they shorted you again!"

"No," he said, giving her his paystub, "just the opposite. They put in too much."

"Hmm, let me see what's going on here." She turned to her computer and began to type. "Actually, they didn't."

"What do you mean?"

"Mr. Stark authorized a raise in your salary. Didn't he tell you?" She turned back to him.

"No," he said, his stomach clenching. "When?"

She glanced back at her computer. "I'd have to check the paperwork, but it looks like about a week and a half week ago, retroactive to the beginning of the month. Wow, Steve, I don’t know what you did to impress Mr. Stark, but I've never seen him give someone a raise before."

"Yeah." He felt sick and angry as he stared down at his paystub. "I must have done something. Thanks, Denise." He stumbled to his feet and ignored her concerned frown.

He was glad that Marissa was at lunch, because he wasn't sure he could keep from yelling. He shoved open the door to Howard's office—he was eating lunch and playing with a 3D computer model—and slammed the paystub on the deck. "I’m not a whore!"

Howard blinked at him and set down his sandwich. "Okay."

"You gave me a raise!" He clenched his hands into fists and fought the urge to shake him.

"Yes, I did. And a very nice one too." Howard picked up the stub and gave it an admiring look.

"Because we're... we're..." He took a deep breath. "I'm not a whore."

"I know. Whores fuck for money. " Howard got to his feet and stepped close to Steve so they were almost touching. "Get on your knees."

Steve hesitated.

"Get on your fucking knees before I put you on your knees." Howard's voice went soft and cold and Steve found himself obeying immediately. "Why do you let me fuck you, Steven?"

Steve opened his mouth to speak when there was an intake of breath from the doorway. He didn't have to look to know that Marissa stood there.

"Close the door, Marissa," Howard said, but she didn't listen.

"Steve, are you okay?"

He closed his eyes and swallowed down the lump in his throat. He turned to look at her and his voice shook as he spoke. "Fine. I'm fine."

There was another few seconds of quiet, then she closed the door.

Howard grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head around so that he was forced to look up. "Answer my question. Why do you let me fuck you?"'

"Because I'm your boy."

"That's right." Howard carded his fingers through Steve's hair. "And if I want to give you a fucking raise, I will. You're *mine* and I can do whatever I damn well please with you! If you ever forget that again, I will strip you naked and parade you through this building. Do you understand me?"

Steve nodded.

Howard raised an eyebrow. "I can't hear you."

Steve stared into Howard's eyes; either he could believe Howard or be miserable. He had to make a decision. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

He caressed along Steve's jaw and brushed his thumb against Steve's bottom lip. "Good boy. Now get up and make nice with Marissa. When you're done with that, come back in here. I want you to suck my cock."

He pressed a kiss to Howard's thumb. "Yes, sir."

*****

Howard told him, "Either you break up with your military sugar daddy or I'll do it for you. And you don't want me to do it for you, Steven."

*****

"I can't spy on Mr. Stark for you anymore, Nick."

"Because you're fucking him?"

Steve tensed slightly at those words then forced himself to relax. He could lie, but Nick would know; and it's not like he had anything to be ashamed of. "No, because I'm tired of being a pawn in your little games."

Nick smirked and leaned back in his chair. "You don't seem to mind his games, *Steven*."

That son of a—

"You bugged me?" He managed to keep his voice low and even.

"I was worried about you. Your team was worried about you. "

"They're not my team anymore, they're Bradley's team." He got to his feet and began pacing the room. "I'm done, Nick. Don’t you understand, I can't do it anymore!"

"You've got a responsibility to use the gifts we gave you."

"And you get to decide how, I suppose?" Steve stopped pacing and turned back to Nick.

He shrugged. "Who better? There are ways you can use your gifts without being part of the team, Steve."

"I don’t have time!"

"You'd have plenty of time if—"

"I’m not giving up Howard."

Nick shook his head in disbelief. "You've really fallen hook, line, and sinker for this guy, haven't you? You think he gives a damn about you, Steve? You're just another tall blond to add the list of blondes he's fucked. The only difference between them and you is that you’ve got a dick."

But Steve knew that wasn't true. None of the girls Howard fucked ever went home with him. They never spent weekends in the mansion; hotels, yes, but never his home. They never got to sit with him in his workshop and watch him fiddle with his machines. Howard came home to Steve and only to Steve.

"That's none of your business."

"He's going to hurt you," Nick said quietly.

"Still none of your business."

"Tell him that when he does, I'm going to gut him." Nick smiled in a way that made Steve shudder.

"You'll have to go through me first. Good bye, Nick."

"I'll see you around, Steve."

Steve turned to look at him and said, "Disengage the bugs," before leaving.

Howard was waiting for him in the car. Steve climbed in and buckled his seatbelt.

"Well?" Howard asked, gesturing for the driver to go.

He stared out the window, feeling tired. "It's done."

"I could probably spare you, if you need the day off."

Steve gave a slight smile. "I'm all right."

"Okay." Howard awkwardly patted Steve's knee.

"Can we stop off at my place real quick?" He glanced at Howard. "I need a couple of things."

"Sure, that's not a problem."

Neither of them said anything until they pulled in front of Steve's apartment building. Steve sat there for a moment, wondering if he should really do what he was planning, if he should give up all his secrets, if it was the right thing to do.

"Could you come up with me, sir?" he asked, finally.

Howard nodded and followed Steve upstairs, grumbling slightly at the state of the building; Steve just smiled. He didn't spend much time here anymore, but he kept it for appearance's sake.

When they entered the apartment, Howard opened his mouth to speak, but Steve pressed a finger to his lips and shook his head. Then he carefully made a sweep of the rooms, destroying any bugs he found under his heel.

Howard's face grew dark with anger when he realized what Steve was doing. "I'm going to fucking kill Fury the next time I see him."

"It doesn't matter." After he finished sweeping the apartment, he gestured for Howard to follow him into the bedroom. He knelt on the floor and pulled a trunk out from under his bed. He pressed his thumb to the print-lock and it opened with a click.

Howard sat on the bed and watched Steve curiously. "What's going on?"

He swallowed hard, feeling anxious--- no, feeling terrified. What if Howard couldn't handle the truth? What if he fired Steve? Or worse, what if Howard broke it off? He laid his head against Howard's thigh, asking for reassurance. And Howard gave it, stroking Steve's hair.

"Tell me what's going on, Steven."

Steve closed his eyes and sighed. "I want to tell you the last of my secrets."

"I see." Howard rubbed the back of Steve's neck, then pulled his hand away. "You might as well rip off the bandage."

He nodded, opened his eyes, and pulled back. "Please, don't be mad." He lifted the lid of the trunk and took out his costume. "I was Captain America."

"You were…" Howard gave Steve a stunned look and reached out, hesitantly, to touch the suit. "You… You're…"

Steve could practically see him making all the connections. Then he did something Steve didn't expect; he burst into laughter.

"You… I'm fucking Captain America!" He fell back on the bed and curled up, laughing so hard tears came to his eyes.

"You're not mad?"

Howard tried to calm himself, but Steve could see he was having a hard time. Whenever he seemed to get control, the sight of the uniform would send him into fresh paroxysms of what sounded like giggles. "I… I'm screwing Captain America! I.. Oh, God, this is the best news ever!"

Steve crossed his arms over his chest and glared, which only seemed to amuse Howard even more. "It's not funny! And I'm not Captain America anymore."

Howard took a few deep breaths and bit his lip to stifle any new fits. "Okay, I'm okay. Why don't you pack a few things for the week, Cap."

"Don't! Please," he said, shutting the trunk and locking it up.

"Easy, easy!" Howard grinned at him and stroked his jaw. "I'll wait in the car. Don't take too long."

"Yes, sir." Steve hoped that was the end of Howard's glee, but it wasn't.

He snickered all the way home.

*****

"Well, at least that explains your non-existent refractory period," Howard said later that night as Steve was drifting off.

"Mmm." Steve sighed and pressed his face into the pillow.

"It actually makes what we do even hotter." Howard gently bit Steve's shoulder.

"Why?" he mumbled.

"A powerhouse like you, submitting to me. How could you think it *wouldn't* turn me on?" Howard rubbed Steve's hip and mouthed his neck.

Steve snorted and wiggled away from him. "Early morning meeting with London," he reminded gently.

Howard huffed and rolled away. "All right, all right. Spoilsport."

*****

Steve called in sick on the first anniversary of Bucky's death. He curled in bed, hands clutching a picture of him and Bucky in their BDUs, arms around each other, looking happy and much too young. They'd joined up together, right out of high school, expecting excitement and glory. For six years they got both.

Then Bucky got dead.

His hands convulsed on the frame until it cracked and a spider web of cracks bloomed on the glass. He took a shuddering breath and forced his eyes to focus on something other than their picture. He glared at the water spot on the ceiling. God, he thought he was over this. He thought he'd managed to banish the pain and the despair.

The image of Bucky slipping from his fingers played in his head over and over again. "I’m sorry," he whispered, eyes sliding shut. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"You should be sorry."

He gasped and his eyes flew open. Howard stood in the doorway and Steve didn't curse. God, he was more out of it than he thought. He should have heard Howard come in. "What?"

"How am I supposed to run my business if my PA isn't at my side." Howard walked over to the bed and sat down. "Want to tell me why we're not at work?"

"I'm allowed sick days," he said, glaring, expecting Howard to lash out at his insolence.

Howard just gave him a measuring stare until Steve dropped his gaze back to the picture. "You're really not." Then Howard reached over and brushed a finger over the cracked frame. "Is that Bucky?"

Steve jerked up to look at Howard. "How—"

"You talk in your sleep." Howard pushed his fingers into Steve's hair and gently massaged his scalp. "The things I do for you, Steven. Sometimes, I don't think it's worth the amazing sex. "

Steve stared at him blankly.

Howard gave a much put upon sigh. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about. He's dead." The words came out harsher than he meant them to. He swallowed hard. "Talking about it won't bring him back. Nothing will bring him back."

"So you're wallowing in self-pity." Howard's fingers slipped down to the nape of his neck, sliding across his skin gently.

Oh, those words stung.

"Yeah," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I’m wallowing in self-pity. I'm allowed to take sick days and I'm allowed wallow! He was my best friend, I'm allowed to be sad and angry and… and…" Tears stung his eyes and jerked away from Howard's touch.

Of course, a moment later Howard was brushing the tears from his face. "Yes, you are. Well, except the sick days."

Steve let out a snort. "Stop trying to be funny."

"Trying?" Howard climbed into bed and stretched out next to him. "Come here. Come on, come here."

Steve reluctantly set down the picture on the nightstand and rolled over. Howard put an arm around him and stroked his back. "You don't have to do this. I know—"

"Shut up, Steven. You didn't have to dance with me on my father's grave, but you did. I pay my debts."

Steve gave a bark of wet laughter and buried his face against Howard's neck. "If I had been better, he'd be alive right now."

"You were both soldiers. Even if you had saved his life then, he might still be dead now."

"That isn't reassuring."

Howard shrugged. "It wasn't meant to be. Now shut up and get all your wallowing out of the way. Tomorrow, I'm going to need you to reschedule all the appointments I'm missing right now."

Steve wrapped an arm around Howard's waist and hugged him tightly. "Yes, sir."

*****

Normally, Howard took him everywhere. Even on dates. Steve couldn't count the number of times he was shunted off in an out of the way corner of a restaurant while Howard and a date sat across the room, eating and flirting. Everyone seemed to realize that was weird, *except* for Howard.

But with half the executives out with the flu, someone needed to make sure the company ran smoothly while Howard flew off to South Korea. And Steve was the only person Howard trusted to do that. Besides, he could forge Howard's signature better than anyone.

Of course, with Howard out of the country, Steve was at a loss when it came to downtime. The first night he spent curled in bed, feeling lonely and miserable, hoping that Howard would call but not daring to make the phone call himself. The second night, he actually picked up a pencil—after a yearlong hiatus— and tried drawing something. But at the end of the night, he had several pages full of Howard's eyes and mouth and dick.

He was pathetic.

His last night alone, he picked up his cell and *almost* called Howard. Almost. Instead, he scrolled through his address book and hit Isaiah's number.

After five rings, there was a gruff "who is this?"

"Isaiah? It's Steve."

"Steve?" He sounded surprised, but not unhappily so. "Jeez, Steve, it's been almost a year! How are you doing?"

"I'm good. I'm real good. I was just wondering if you guys were in town. Maybe you could come over to my place and hang out? Catch up?"

"You're in luck, we got in a week ago. Give me an hour to get everyone assembled. What's your address?"

He gave it and Isaiah hung up with a promise to see him soon. He grabbed his jacket and headed out; he'd need to stop and get beer, lots of beer, on his way to his apartment.

*****

Steve thought it might be awkward, but it was hard to feel too uncomfortable when the god of Thunder was greeting you like no time had passed: that was to say with a broad smile and a rib-crushing hug.

"We brought beer," Clint said, shoving a six-pack into his arms.

"And pizza." Isaiah grinned over the stack of pizza boxes in his arms.

"Where are Nat and Bruce?" Steve looked out the doorway into the hall, but he didn't see them.

"Date." Clint slumped into a chair, looking sulky.

"Together?" Steve couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.

Isaiah snorted and shrugged. "Yeah, surprised all of us. But Nat's always been cool and collected; just the sort of girl Bruce needs."

"And how fares it with thee, Steve?" Thor asked, leaning against the wall and giving Steve an assessing look.

Steve smiled and passed out the beer. "I'm fine. Really, guys, I am."

Clint snorted. "We've heard that before, then you quit."

Isaiah glared at Clint and opened his mouth to say something, but Steve shook his head.

"I know. And I'm sorry about that. My head wasn't on straight and I was a danger to myself and to all of you." Steve opened his beer and took a long drink. "But I've found my center and I'm good."

"That is not what Colonel Fury tells us," Thor said.

"Fury thinks that the only way for me to be happy is to rejoin the Avengers." He stared into his beer can. "That's not going to happen, guys. Not anytime soon."

Isaiah slapped him on the shoulder. "Well, when you're ready, you have a place on the team."

Steve quirked his lips and looked at Isaiah. "Thanks, Cap."

The underlying tension in the room eased and everyone seemed to take a deep breath and relax. It felt good to talk about something other than schematics, corporate takeovers, and stock prices. Steve let himself sink into the rhythm of the conversation and forget about how much he missed Howard.

Several hours and a half a dozen beers later, Steve excused himself, and headed to the bathroom. He pissed, washed his hands, and splashed water on his face. Then he stared at himself in the mirror; he looked terrible, like he hadn't slept in a few days. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed.

There was a knock, then Clint called out through the door, "Hey, Steve, some asshole is asking for you."

What?

Steve jerked the door open and Clint shoved his cell phone into his hands. He glared at Clint; the man had absolutely no sense of boundaries. "Mr. Stark," he said, a hopeful note in his voice.

"Where the fuck are you?" Howard asked.

"I'm at home, sir." He slowly made his way to the bedroom.

"No, *I'm* at home. You're somewhere with *Clint*. Who the hell is Clint, Steven?"

"You're home? But you're not supposed to leave Korea until tomorrow morning. Um, this morning." Steve closed the door.

"I didn't need that extra day. And you didn't answer any of my questions."

He closed his eyes and let Howard's fury wash over him. "I'm at my apartment. Since I had some free time, I thought I'd connect with a few of my old friends. If I had known you were coming home early—"

"No! No, you should have told me you weren't going to be home. You should have told me you were going to be out with friends. You—You know what? Do whatever the fuck you want to do, Steven. I don’t really need this shit!" Howard hung up.

Steve sighed and shoved his cell in his pocket. When he walked back into the living room, everyone was staring at him; ah, the hazards of being friends with a sniper, a super soldier, and a god.

"Is everything all right, Steve?" Isaiah asked.

All three of them were frowning and Thor was fondling Mjölnir: not good.

He smiled as naturally as possible. "Yeah, everything's fine. My boss is back from his business trip and he was a little disappointed that I… I… wasn’t available."

"He sounds like a jackass." Clint raised an eyebrow.

"He's really not that bad. He's just…" Steve shrugged; Howard didn't handle disappointment very well. He'd paddle Steve's ass tomorrow, maybe yell a bit, then everything would stabilize. Howard was nice that way. "He's just tired from his flight."

"Perhaps we should leave," Thor said and Steve shook his head.

"No, no, stay. You haven't finished telling me about what happened with Doom and your brother Loki." Steve frowned. "Your sister Loki? How does that even work?"

Which was the right question to ask because Thor took a deep breath and began explaining, in detail, how Loki had hijacked Thor's lover's new body.

Steve settled on the couch and let the tension ease out of him.

After Thor finished his, very convoluted, story, Clint launched into one about a team up with Spider-Man to fight the Green Goblin and AIM. Clint was just getting to the good part, when there was a knock on the door.

He frowned and was just about to get up to answer it, when Thor gestured for him to stay where he was.

"I shall answer it. I know how this story doth end."

"Anyway," Clint said, "Spider-Man swoops down, and I swear that kid can't keep his mouth shut because he looks at Bruce and says, 'What? No Jolly Green Giant?' And I swear Bruce's face…" Clint's eyes narrowed and his mouth snapped shut; Steve looked to see what pulled that reaction from him.

Steve's eyes widened and his mouth fell open in shock. What was Howard doing here and why was he dressed like *that*? In all the time Steve had known him, the most casual thing Howard had worn was a polo shirt. And that was only because he was going to an *actual* polo game. But this… Steve hadn't known that Howard owned a pair of jeans.

Although, looking at Howard again, Steve could see that the t-shirt and shoes were his.

"Mr. Stark," Steve said and Howard gave a little half-shrug and quirked his lips.

"I hope you don't mind my coming over, Steven."

"Of course not, sir." Steve didn't know whether to be terrified or… no, no, just terrified. "Um, Mr. Stark, I'd like to introduce you to my friends: Isaiah, Clint, and you met Thor."

Howard smiled at each of them and shook Clint and Isaiah's hands. "Call me Howard."

Isaiah had a bland expression on his face, but both Clint and Thor were obviously unhappy.

Howard sat down next to Steve, so close that their thighs touched, and put an arm around Steve's shoulders.

Oh, God.

"You know, I think this is the first time I've ever met any of your friends." Howard leaned in so that his mouth almost brushed Steve's temple. "You're not ashamed of me, are you?"

Steve sighed and almost buried his face in his hands. "No, sir. How was Korea?"

"Oh, let's not talk about me. I think your friend *Clint* was in the middle of a story. About Spider-Man, was it?" Howard grinned and crinkled his nose. "I love a good superhero story!"

"I forgot what I was going to say," Clint said, flatly.

"Aw, too bad." Howard looked around, practically giddy. "Where are the other two? The gorgeous red-head and… What was the Jolly Green Giant's name? Bruce, was it?"

"Mr. Stark, please," Steve said softly. "Nick—"

"I know, I know, Fury will be pissed that I met his masked avengers and now know their first names. No doubt I'll be pulled into a super secret meeting and told to keep my mouth shut about their identities. Otherwise, I might sell them to China." Howard yawned and Clint jumped to his feet.

"You son of a bitch—"

"Oh, sit down, Cupid." Howard brushed his thumb against the nape of Steve's neck. "I wouldn't actually sell your names to China. Rumors of my traitorous nature have been greatly exaggerated."

"Yeah, but not your—"

"Stand down, Clint! You, too, Thor." Isaiah slowly got to his feet. "We should go, Steve."

He nodded, suddenly tired. "Yeah, okay."

"We'll show ourselves out." Isaiah pushed both Clint and Thor towards the front door. "I'll call you in a few days. We'll make plans to get together again."

Howard wiggled his fingers in a goodbye.

When the door closed behind them, Steve leaned his head back against the couch and stared at the ceiling. "That wasn’t very nice, sir."

"Yeah, well, I'm not a nice guy," Howard said, anger flooding his voice.

"I hadn't seen them in almost a year. Am I not allowed friends of my own anymore?"

Howard grabbed him by the chin and jerked his head so that they were looking at each other. "Of course you're allowed your own friends. Have as many fucking friends as you want. I don’t like it when I don’t know where you are!" He released Steve's chin with a rough shove.

"You were in Korea!"

"It doesn't matter where I am! I want to know where you are at all times. And if that makes me an *asshole*, then fine, I'm an asshole!" He grabbed Steve by the shirt. "You belong to me. You're mine." Howard's hands were trembling and for a brief moment he looked more hurt than angry.

Steve put his hands over Howard's and said softly, "Yes, sir. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't tell you where I was going to be."

Howard closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he released Steve's shirt and opened his eyes. "Your friends' weapons are shit. I'll make them better ones."

Steve smiled. "I'm sure they'll appreciate that, sir."

"You should check to see if your friends left any bugs."

"They wouldn’t do that."

Howard gave him a look that said he was being naïve. "Check for fucking bugs, Steven."

"Fine." Steve systematically checked in every room they had been in. He didn't find anything until he got to the bookcase in the living room. He made a sound of disappointment and briefly closed his eyes. When he went to drop it so he could crush it under his shoe, Howard shook his head.

"Bring it here." Howard plucked it from Steve's hand and examined it. "It's a piece of shit." He brought it to his lips. "Fury, you son of a bitch, you like listening to our conversations? Does that get your motor running? Well, why don't I give you something you can jack off to, you sick fuck."

"Sir?"

"Take off your clothes and kneel on the damn floor! Or have you forgotten the rules in the few days I've been gone?"

"No, sir." Steve quickly undressed and knelt at Howard's feet. He trembled slightly from the anticipation running through him.

Howard set the bug on the couch next to him. "God, look at you. Kneeling at my feet, waiting for me to give a command, waiting for me to touch you: to make you hurt, to make you feel good."

Steve gasped softly, Howard's words washing over him like a wave of heat.

"Who are you, Steven?"

"I'm your boy, sir. Your… your slut." Steve's cock jerked to attention and Howard chuckled softly.

"Yes, you like that. You like being mine. Look how hard you are." Howard used his foot to press Steve's cock against his belly.

Steve moaned and leaned in for more pressure; a drop of precome oozed out of his cock.

"Stop that," he said and when Steve obeyed, he began to tap his foot. "Keep still."

Steve dug his nails into his palms and panted harshly as his pleasure rose.

"You could come like this, couldn't you? With just my foot on your cock?" He grinned and tapped faster, making Steve moan and writhe. "You're disgusting."

Then he pulled his foot back and Steve let out a disappointed "no."

"It's a pity you can't see him, Nick. He's absolutely gorgeous. Kneeling at my feet, flushed and sweaty, and he's so hard, he looks about ready to come." Howard laughed again. "You think that fucking the air is going to make you come, Steven?"

Steve blinked in surprise and, with tremendous effort, stilled his hips. "S-Sorry, s-sir."

"You're always sorry, Steven. And yet you still find ways of pissing me off and disobeying me. I suppose it's my own fault." He sighed. "I haven't paddled your ass since last week."

Steve's hips jerked at the idea and he keened softly. "Please, yes, please. Sir, I need it. I… Paddle my ass. I'll do anything you want, please, anything!"

"Mmm." Howard leaned forward and gently stroked Steve's face. "They didn't give you that in the military, did they, Steven? Maybe if they'd given you a good spanking now and then, you'd still be fighting for the red, white, and blue. But I know how to take care of you, don't I, baby? Don't I take care of my boy?"

"Yes," Steve choked out, turning his face and mouthing Howard's fingers "Y-You take good care of me. You give me what I need. Everything that I need."

"I always take care of my things." Howard pulled away and sat back. "Over my lap."

Steve's breath hitched in his throat as he scrambled over Howard's thighs to get into position. The first blow was a warning for him to stop rutting against Howard; he moaned and did his best to hold still.

"Don't hold back, Steven. You have my permission to come when you need to." Then Howard began to rain blows over Steve's ass and thighs, hot explosions of pain and pleasure that made him rock his hips, groaning Howard's name, and beg for more.

He knew that he should feel ashamed; Nick wouldn't be the only one who heard this. The others would probably hear it too. But he didn't care and he wasn't ashamed. He wanted this, needed this, every cruelty and every kindness, every blow and every soft press of lips on his body. He was Howard's and only Howard's, and the sooner they learned that the better.

His breath came out in jagged little gasps and his ass was hot and swollen and he was ready to burst from all of it. It felt like he'd been holding his breath since Howard left for his trip and he was just now allowed to exhale.

So he did, he exhaled in an explosive huff, and came all over Howard's lap.

Howard's hand stilled and when Steve slumped against him, he gently stroked the small of Steve's back, murmuring softly.

When Steve's breathing evened out, Howard urged him back on his knees.

"That was very good, Steven. That was perfect." He smiled lazily, as if his jeans weren’t streaked with come and he wasn't still hard. "I brought you a gift. Would you like to see it?"

"Yes, sir," Steve said, slurring his words.

Howard reached into his pocket and pulled out a strip of leather. "Take it."

Steve did and… oh, it was a dog collar. He ran his thumb along the butter-soft leather, then read the engraving on the tag: Property of Howard Stark. He gasped and looked up sharply, his brain finally catching up with the gift's symbolism.

Steve lurched forward and pressed his face against Howard's belly, trembling with emotion. "I love you," he blurted out. "I love you."

Howard gently stroked his hair. "There's a GPS tracker embedded in the tag."

"You don't trust me to tell you where I am?" Steve laughed softly.

He grabbed a fistful of Steve's hair and jerked his head back. "You're just lucky I don't fucking microchip your ass."

Steve's breath hitched in his throat and he flushed.

"You like that idea, you little pervert?" Howard said, laughing.

He *loved* the idea. "Please?"

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," Steve said, then pulled up Howard's shirt, nuzzling and licking the skin he'd uncovered, tasting him. Worshiping him.

Howard tugged Steve's hair to get him to stop, then buckled the collar into place. "You really want to thank me? Suck my cock."

Steve moaned, both at the words and the feel of the leather against his skin, and reached for Howard's belt. "Yes, sir."


End file.
